


taking back an empty threat

by crookedheart (nighimpossible)



Series: the kids aren't alright [2]
Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 14:26:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11277132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighimpossible/pseuds/crookedheart
Summary: Jon laughs, and it’s a laugh that comes more easily than it should, but it still makes Lovett feel good about himself. “So stupid,” Jon says fondly, reaching over and ruffling Lovett’s curls, which certainly makes Lovett feel some sort of way.But then, you know: repression for survival. Because feeling things for your straight friends is a one-way ticket to getting your heart broken. Lovett’s read things on the internet about this, but has also, you know, lived it for eighteen years. So Jon can drape his arm over Lovett’s shoulder, and Lovett can cuddle into Jon’s side while they share the last of a really good blunt, and they can revel in a moment that Lovett will point to years from now as the high school experience, because Lovett doesn’t let himself fall for his straight friends anymore. It’s just too hard.





	taking back an empty threat

**Author's Note:**

> More scenes from the Prep School AU, this time from Lovett's POV. In terms of timeline, this ficlet takes place right after [do i make you cringe](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11153691).
> 
> Title from the CHVRCHES song, "Empty Threat."

 

 

 

“Thank fucking God you're here,” Jon says gratefully, laying eyes on Lovett and the blunt he’s holding, making immediately grabby hands towards him. Jon’s hair is freshly showered and he smells strongly of that Axe shampoo he insists on buying that Lovett just fucking hates. “Pass it.”

Lovett usually doesn’t get proprietary about his weed, usually doesn’t _mind_ sharing with his friends, but today Mr. Mason had handed him a fucking B+ on a paper that so, _so_ clearly deserved an A—and so _what_ if the paper had been late, that isn’t the _point_ —the point is _content_ , and _quality_ , and fucking _substance_ , isn’t it? He’s an A student and he doesn’t deserve this frankly ludicrous punishment. Sure, he’s not All-American like Tommy, and he’s not _quite_ Valedictorian like Jon is, but he’s close, and he deserves good things: things like getting into Williams and being a National Merit Scholar and a fucking 4.0.

Lovett can’t _wait_ to graduate from this hellmouth.

“If you don’t say please, I think I might bite your head off,” Lovett says sourly as Jon sinks down to sit next to him. “I’ve had a _very_ bad day, Jonathan, and I don’t want to even _begin_ to talk about it.”

“Please,” Jon sighs, and even though it doesn’t sound sincere, Lovett is lonely enough that just the sheer individual attention of Jon Favreau is enough to make him relent.

“Mason is a dick,” Lovett mutters, passing the blunt.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” Jon says innocently, words muffled slightly as he inhales deeply. He only coughs slightly at the end of the pull, the smoke pluming out of his mouth in a few spasmodic hacks. Lovett nods approvingly.

“I _don’t_ ,” Lovett squawks. “It’s just that I, personally, don’t deserve this. And if you disagree, well, _that’s_ homophobia, Jon. Plain and simple.”

Jon narrows his eyes at Lovett before asking, “Is this about the Faulkner paper you handed in three days late? You _knew_ he was gonna dock points, man.”

It is, and Lovett likes to think that his superior essay writing skills might have negated that penalty. “What, so are we gonna dock points when George RR Martin finally comes out with _Winds of Winter_? What _is_ time, anyway?”

Jon rolls his eyes and keeps the blunt in his mouth, taking another hit before handing it back to Lovett. Lovett quickly pops the mildly wet end back between his lips. “Just do extra credit or something.”

“Me showing up to that shitshow of a class should be extra credit,” Lovett says sourly. “We’ve only had two weeks of class so far and I already am actively seeking ways to miss it in the future.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jon says sarcastically. “I’m sure Mason will love that explanation.”

“I guess I’m just not as good at brownnosing for grades as you are,” Lovett sighs superiorly. “Otherwise we both know who’d be Valedictorian.”

“Tommy,” Jon says matter of factly.

“Low blow,” Lovett mutters. He’s right, but Lovett isn’t about to admit that anyone’s smarter than him. That’s _his_ thing. Jon can keep the being stupidly hot and well-liked thing. Tommy’s WASP-y, well-bred jawline with no discernable eyebrows thing? Keep it. Lovett is a short guy with a metabolism that does not reflect well on his figure, but goddamn it, he is _smart_. Doesn’t help that his two best friends are smart _and_ goodlooking, but whatever. He’s just a specialist.

Lovett doesn’t remember the first time he came up here to get high and Jon followed, but it’s now become a bit of a thing between the two of them. Tommy doesn’t smoke, though in Lovett’s personal opinion he probably should, considering the existential crises he seems to be having on the regular. So generally it’s just the two of them, just Jon and Lovett, usually sitting with their backs to the edge of the roof, looking out across campus and wishing they were somewhere else. Sometimes Dan used to join them, back before he graduated, but Lovett never liked that much. Not that he doesn’t like _Dan_ , he just likes being the center of attention more. 

Sometimes, though, Lovett comes up to the roof to smoke alone. And that’s generally when he’s either really pissed or really sad. Which is, obviously, not healthy, but Lovett has never claimed to be perfect.

Okay, a bald-faced lie, but you get the idea.

Jon relaxes against his shoulder, melting a little. “Fucking good stuff, there.”

“It was my emergency weed,” Lovett admits.

“Lovett,” Jon says in a _tsk-_ ing tone.

“What? It was an _emergency_ ,” Lovett says pointedly. “I had an emergent need to get blazed out of my skull and escape this hell on earth that parades around as a fucking _school_.” He coughs a little as he takes another drag. “And I succeeded. Yay for me.”

Jon laughs, and it’s a laugh that comes more easily than it should, but it still makes Lovett feel good about himself. “So stupid,” Jon says fondly, reaching over and ruffling Lovett’s curls, which certainly makes Lovett feel some sort of way.

But then, you know: repression for survival. Because feeling things for your straight friends is a one-way ticket to getting your heart broken. Lovett’s read things on the internet about this, but has also, you know, lived it for eighteen years. So Jon can drape his arm over Lovett’s shoulder, and Lovett can cuddle into Jon’s side while they share the last of a really good blunt, and they can revel in a moment that Lovett will point to years from now as _the high school experience_ , because Lovett doesn’t let himself fall for his straight friends anymore. It’s just too hard.

“We’re almost out,” Jon says, his words tripping over his tongue. He hands the last of the blunt over to Lovett as a courtesy. Lovett thinks for a moment.

“You ever shotgun?” he asks Jon, his tone as even-keeled as he can muster. “So we can both can get a final hit. Sharing is caring, you know.”

Jon shrugs. “No. But I’ll try it.”

“There’s the open-minded candidate this school needs,” Lovett grins. “Just open your mouth like you’re trying to kiss me.”

Jon stiffens beside him. “Lovett,” he says darkly.

“ _Like_ being the operative word,” Lovett says smoothly. He knows how to tread in these homocurious waters. “Don’t worry, it’s not gay if you’re just getting high.”

Jon has a pinched look on his face before he adds, tightly, “I’m not worried.” He leans forward.

Lovett scrambles for the blunt and inhales deeply, filling his lungs as best he can before inching towards Jon’s mouth. He takes Jon’s chin in his hand, directing him closer and tilting his head just slightly. Lovett slots his mouth so that it hovers over Jon’s open lips and finally lets his breath go.

Lovett sees Jon’s chest rise as the plume of smoke unfurls from his lips and down Jon’s throat. Jon’s hand squeezes Lovett’s knee tightly, and Lovett does his best to give Jon everything he’s got in the tank. It’s filthy, truth be told, and when Lovett’s nose brushes against Jon’s cheek, he has to remind himself that this has a purpose. He leans back quickly and puts his head against the concrete ledge of the roof, trying to quietly store this moment in his memory bank. 

“Was that good for you?” Lovett jokes, trying to break the tension of Jon’s quiet exhalation. The last smokey remnants of their shared joint trail away from Jon’s mouth and Lovett feels his own breath catch.

“Wasn’t bad,” Jon says quietly, leaning back to join Lovett against the wall.

“ _Happy birthday, Mr. Class President,_ ” Lovett hums under his breath. “Belated. Whatever.”

“About that,” Jon drawls.

“Now son, it’s always been your dream to be class president,” Lovett says in his best Dad Favreau voice. He then adjusts to a squeakier timber. “ _No dad, that was_ your _dream_.” Lovett cracks up at himself, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes to hide his real disappointment. “It’s alright, I get it. You’re not into it. It’s cool.”

Jon leans into Lovett’s shoulder. “Yeah, my dad _is_ pretty psyched about it.”

Lovett’s brow furrows. Over the course of the next minute, his very high brain puts two and two together. “You motherfucker,” he beams, turning to punch Jon in the arm about a hundred times.

“Ow! Hey,” Jon squawks.

“Shut up, I’m not very strong and I deserve this,” Lovett says with a giggle. The assault ends with an exhausted Lovett pulling away and rolling on his back and a rather tenderized Jon rubbing his bicep delicately. “I still get to be your campaign manager, right?”

He hears Jon shuffle to his feet, and soon enough, he is standing over Lovett, straddling his torso with two long legs that inspire both jealousy and appreciation in Lovett’s eyes. The perfect storm: that’s Jon Favreau in a nutshell. Wunderkind valedictorian jock poet bound for stardom. Lovett just hopes he can hang on tight enough to his coattails to keep up.

“Obviously,” Jon says from above him. “Even though Tommy thinks it’s a bad idea.”

“Running for president? Or me?” Lovett asks.

“You,” Jon says. “I’m more optimistic.”

“That seems like a lie,” Lovett says shrewdly. “Tommy loves me. We’re _roommates_.”

Jon shrugs, reaching a hand down for Lovett to grasp. It takes a second, but they’re both on their feet in no time. “Tommy’s weird about things, sometimes,” he says, vague as shit, and Lovett makes a face.

“I don’t know what the hell that’s supposed to mean,” Lovett says, hackles raising. Jon is his best friend, but Tommy is very much _also_ his best friend (Lovett very much subscribes to the Mindy Kaling mantra of best friend is not a person, it’s a tier). Lovett is the first to jokingly make fun of those who he considers to be his people, but it feels like Jon is trying to get Lovett to talk shit. And while Lovett does enjoy talking shit about people he doesn’t care about, he draws the line at Tommy.

Whatever. Don’t read into it.

“I have total confidence in you,” Jon deflects, clearly sensing Lovett’s annoyance. “So it’s a deal?” And he sticks his hand out for Lovett to shake.

It’s definitely a weird gesture, considering that Lovett was nearly making out with Jon not a few minutes ago, but Lovett shakes his hand anyway. “Let’s play ball.” He pauses to think. “Is that the appropriate sports metaphor here?”

Jon laughs. “Yeah, you nailed it.” He bites at his cuticle briefly. “You really think people will vote for me?”

“Honestly, Jon, I think if you asked most people at this school, they’d go to war for you,” Lovett says frankly. Jon makes a noise of disbelief. “Casting a vote for class president is much more non-committal. Our numbers will go way up.”

“Nice to know I’m so popular,” Jon muses. “Maybe I should recruit some better-looking friends.”

“Fuck you,” Lovett says derisively. “There’s a difference between people who’d follow you and people who’d help you bury a body,” he adds warningly. Lovett puts a hand in the middle of Jon’s chest because he’s feeling daring and he’s fairly blazed. “Get it straight.”

A serious look washes over Jon’s face and he just nods quietly. He doesn’t move away from Lovett’s touch, which means that Jon is probably also pretty high. He has a low threshold for getting spooked. “I know,” he says softly.

“And to be clear, Tommy is a dime, and I am _definitely_ above average,” Lovett says resolutely. “So let’s not kid ourselves with better-looking friends.”

Jon flushes a little but laughs anyway. “So you’re the only guy who can joke these days?”

“My jokes are _funny_.”

“Yeah. When they _land._ ”

Lovett flips Jon off and starts walking towards the door marked Roof Access. “I’m funnier than you’ll ever be in your gap-toothed lifetime, and you _know_ it.”

He doesn’t see Jon approach him, but instead feels as Jon looms at his back, fully invading his personal space. “Duly noted, asshole,” Jon says in his ear.

“You’re such a fucking weirdo tonight,” Lovett groans, twisting open the knob on the door and letting himself inside. “Come on. It’s getting nipply out here.”

The stairs are a little difficult in Lovett’s current state, so he decides to take them down two at a time. “You’re gonna break your fucking neck,” Jon calls out as Lovett hurtles down the stairs to the top floor of Weber Hall.

“Ha!” Lovett calls when he reaches the landing, turning on his heel and pointing up at Jon like some kind of psychotic person. “Total success.” Which is just about when he walks backwards into an unknown object and totally eats it. “ _Fuck.”_

As it turns out, the object is a boy.

“Oh _yeah_ ,” Jon calls mockingly from the top of the stairs. “ _Total_ success.”

“Ow,” the boy beneath Lovett groans.

Lovett scrambles off of the mystery dude beneath him. “What were you doing up there?” the prone boy asks as he scoots onto his side, and Lovett finally focuses in on what is a ridiculously handsome face. He watches the stranger’s pouty lips quirk up at the corners, and it’s obvious he knows that Lovett is looking. But—maybe he doesn’t mind that Lovett is looking?

_Woah._

“Smoking,” Jon says smoothly, walking down the stairs to join the two of them on the landing. “Sorry about my friend. Lovett’s an idiot.” Jon pauses, his brow furrowed. “You’re new here?”

“Yeah. Transferred in for senior year, which ought to be a real blast. I’m Ronan,” he adds, running a hand through his voluminous blond hair. He’s like a living _doll_. It would be scary, if he wasn’t so blazingly hot. Lovett hasn’t stopped looking, but that doesn’t mean he can’t show off his sparkling personality and ogle simultaneously. He’s a man who can walk and chew gum at the same time.

“You’ve got a bad boy vibe going on,” Lovett decides, helping Ronan to his feet. “Were you kicked out of your old school in some kind of scandal? No one changes schools this late in the game unless they have to. Not that I’m complaining.” He smirks at Ronan, trying to project confidence over his bravado. “I love making new friends. Don’t I, Jon?”

“I think your latest instagram post is literally hashtagged #NoNewFriends, but please, go on,” Jon, the _Betrayer_ , says with a smirk. Lovett kindly steps on his toes and while Jon yelps, Lovett turns to Ronan, who looks confused but amused.

“No scandals,” Ronan shrugs. “Just wanted to get out of the house.”

“I get that,” Lovett nods. He does get it: his dad’s a conservative asshole who really doesn’t _love_ having an out and proud son, so getting to be away from home for nine months out of the year is a pretty sweet deal in some respects. “Come eat with us. I’m starving and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Is he always like this?” Ronan asks Jon over Lovett’s shoulder.

“He is always himself, which is this,” Jon says, and Lovett can see Jon gesturing at him in his periphery.

“Good,” Ronan says decidedly, and he takes Lovett’s arm. Lovett nearly has a stroke on the spot. “Lead the way.”

When Lovett looks over his shoulder at a wide-eyed Jon, he mouths _oh my God?_

Fate, it seems, has been kind to Lovett this year.

 

* * *

 

“Thomas,” Lovett says, slamming the door to their room shut behind him and throwing himself directly on Tommy’s bed. Tommy is sitting at his desk, and turns in his chair slowly to face Lovett with an exasperated expression on his face. _Classic Tommy._ “I met a _boy_ today.”

“A real one?” Tommy asks, crossing one long leg over the other. His tone is less than positive.

“Don’t be a dick. Jon saw me literally run him over on the stairs, I have a witness!” Lovett rolls and turns his face into Tommy’s pillow: it has that good, clean smell that freshly washed bedding holds for a day or so after being laundered.

“Can you, uh—not,” Tommy starts. “That’s my bed, you know. Yours is right there.”

“Tommy, I’m telling a story,” Lovett groans, rolling onto his back. “His name is Ronan and he’s very handsome.” Lovett sits up. “That’s it, that’s the story.”

“Riveting,” Tommy says dryly. “Get off my bed now, please.”

“Whatever, Tommy, it’s not every day a maybe-gay dude walks into Washington Prep!” Lovett really doesn’t think Tommy understands what a chance this is for someone like him. “I don’t have a lot of opportunities here. This could be it! We could be—” and Lovett pauses for effect— “ _highschool sweethearts_. I always thought that kind of shit was kind of stupid, but now that it could happen to me, how cute is that?”

“Considering your track record, it’s unlikely,” Tommy says sharply, and Lovett frowns before purposefully wrinkling Tommy’s bedding. “Hey!”

“You deserved it,” Lovett hisses, scrambling off of Tommy’s bed. “For trying to take a big shit on my dreams.”

“Ugh,” Tommy says, making a face as Lovett passes him. “You smell like weed.”

“Um, _yeah_ ,” Lovett says smartly. “That’s what happens when you smoke.”

“Now my _bed_ is going to smell like weed,” Tommy pouts. And Lovett feels a little bad about that, but not bad enough to apologize, because Tommy’s being a total dick.

“What’s up with you?” Lovett asks. “Did you not score in practice today? That’s hard.” When Tommy blushes furiously, Lovett senses that he hit the nail on the head. “Don’t be upset, everyone has off days,” he says astutely.

“I just don’t get why you’re obsessed with a dude you just met,” Tommy bristles, turning around and going back to his obviously blank word document.

“If you’d met him, you’d understand,” Lovett says. “Or maybe not. Your heteronormativity might get in the way.”

“Is that from your word of the day calendar?” Tommy asks derisively.

“Fuck you, I know big words,” Lovett says reflexively. “It’s a crush, Tommy. I’m allowed.”

“I get it, okay,” Tommy says harshly, and Lovett would like to legitimately kick him across the room for being such a fucking asshole. He literally just defended Tommy to Jon, and this is the damn thanks he gets? Just fantastic.

“It’s like you don’t want to see me happy, Tommy,” Lovett says defensively. He brings his knees to his chest, making himself as small as possible. “I know how I look, okay.” Tommy twirls on his chair to glare at him, but Lovett’s not _done_. “This doesn’t do it for a lot of people. And just by like, _statistics_ , my dating pool is fucking slim. This guy is my shot at a high school boyfriend. A real boyfriend, who is like, objectively hot. Do you know how rare that is?”

“Fuck that,” Tommy says. “You shouldn’t just settle—”

“ _Settle_?” Lovett asks blankly. Something’s not computing in his brain. “I don’t think it’s called settling when he’s a babe with a trust fund who’s funny and nice.”

“You don’t _know_ him,” Tommy says.

“What, like I know you?” Lovett asks.

Tommy looks uncomfortable. “Listen, do whatever the fuck you want. I need to write Plouffe’s paper.” Lovett winces internally. He, too, has to write Mr. Plouffe’s history paper, but he’s been putting it off. It’s probably a habit he should grow out of.

“I will,” Lovett says primly, dragging his laptop out of his bag and wrenching it open with gusto. “Seeing as Ronan and I are getting coffee together tomorrow. _He_ asked _me_ , by the way.”

“ _Great_ ,” Tommy says through gritted teeth.

“I know. It’s _super_ ,” Lovett replies tightly. 

Tommy’s usually pretty fun to talk to about his various crushes on the straight men of Washington Prep, so Lovett doesn’t really get why now that Lovett has an actual chance at high school romance, Tommy’s drawing a hard line. Maybe he doesn’t want Lovett to bring Ronan back to their room if they ever start fooling around. Lovett gets it, but come on. Like he’d subject Tommy to that. _Much_.

Lovett takes a deep breath, tries to steady himself, and then sighs. He will rise above, take the high road, and extend the olive branch. Let no man ever say that Jon Lovett isn’t a good friend. “Okay, let’s not go to sleep angry,” he teases. Lovett sees the corner of Tommy’s lip quirk upwards in quiet forgiveness. “What are you writing your paper on? I need ideas.”

Tommy swivels to look at Lovett. “I don’t know, but I definitely think we need to use the primary source Plouffe handed out at the end of class.” 

 

"Smart boy." And the ice is broken.


End file.
